


Fyre

by AemonKitten, Daphnerys (AemonKitten)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Dark Jon Snow, Drama & Romance, Even More Original Charachter(s), F/M, Incest, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Multi, Mystery, Original Character(s), Politics, Silver Haired Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-26 04:29:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20736248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AemonKitten/pseuds/AemonKitten, https://archiveofourown.org/users/AemonKitten/pseuds/Daphnerys
Summary: It all happened because of one detention. And that one detention happened because of Aemon Jon Targaryen.Why Aemon Targaryen happened at all, ever, anywhere in her life, was a question Sansa Stark had asked herself many times before, and would ask herself many times again...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a long one!

It all happened because of one detention. And that one detention happened because of Aemon Jon Targaryen.

Why Aemon Targaryen happened at all, ever, anywhere in her life, was a question Sansa Stark had asked herself many times before, and would ask herself many times again. It was a point of personal pride for Aemon that he made her do so at least once a week.

Well, except for during the holidays. But he had better things to concern himself with during the holidays. Also, that could have potentially been considered stalking and her dad was a scary Auror.

But mostly because he had better things to do.

And he was immensely glad when the holidays came to an end and he didn't have to worry about a single one of them for another three months. Then his concerns became packing, and how to carry both a heavy trunk and a guitar case, and whether he actually wanted to bring his Potions books because he wasn't sure if he actually wanted to take a Potions NEWT.

He liked Potions. But his father was particularly keen he continue to study it. So that was a severe mark against it.

So he'd brought the books anyway and decided he could think about it later, and was just about regretting it as he trundled through the hidden passageway onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters with his leg already covered in bruises from the heavy trunk bashing into it.

But that was okay, because he was on his way home.

The route home smelled an awful lot of sweat and stress and engine oil and smoke, and sounded an awful lot like hundreds of parents frantic in bidding farewell to children all too keen to get away from them. The backing chorus of owls and cats and rats in cages, hooting and yowling, was the finishing touch on the barely-organised disaster that was everyone making ready for the departure of the Hogwarts Express upon another start of another school year.

Aemon, for once, ignored most of the people around him as he wound his way down the platform, entirely prepared to use his heavy trunk as a battering ram. It was the only way to make progress through the chaos, even if a first year, overawed by the sight of the Hogwarts Express, had to hurl themselves into a pile of luggage to avoid being run over.

They had good reflexes. Maybe a future Quidditch player.

Thunk.

The corner of his trunk hit another one and swerved. He'd not replaced the misbehaving wheel and, rolling out of control, it almost crashed into the side of the train before he grabbed it, uttering a curse that caught him a cold look from several overprotective parents. They, too, were ignored.

'Stupid or stupider, Targaryen?'

Aemon scowled as he wrestled his trunk back under control and looked up - and up - to meet the gaze of the broad figure whose luggage he'd collided with. 'What?'

Dickon Tarly rolled his shoulders. Muscles had to make way to let other muscles flex. Behind him was a gaggle of other sixth year boys, lurking at the outskirts of the blossoming confrontation, unlikely to engage unless called upon.

Hufflepuffs hunted in packs.

'Are you stupid because you can't steer,' Tarly was challenging him, broad arms folded across his broad chest, 'or are you stupider because you steered at my trunk?'

Aemon set his trunk down and straightened up. Normally this was enough, but he still had a few inches to go before he could look around in the eye easily. 'I'm pretty sure that "stupider" isn't actually a word.'

Piper, in the Hufflepuff pack, failed to suppress a snort of amusement. Tarly looked over his shoulder to give him a withering look before he fixed his glare back on Aemon. 'You think you're pretty funny, don't you, Targaryen.'

This had just become all too easy. He gave a broad, toothy grin. 'Five out of five Hufflepuff girls agree.'

Piper stopped laughing. He was still going out with his housemate Rosannah Whent. Aemon thought she was a nice girl. Good sense of humour. Cracking legs. He wondered if Piper had ever seen them. 'Sod off, Targaryen,' he snapped.

'You never did get this "witty repartee" thing down, did you?' Aemon cocked his head. 'It's no wonder there's -'

Fortune smiled down to save him from himself as another shadow fell upon them, the only one that could actually rival Dickon Tarly's size. A heavy, strong hand landed on Aemon's shoulder, and if he hadn't known better he'd have been quite surprised at the mellow, polite voice that accompanied it.

'Is there something wrong, Aemon?'

Aemon didn't need to turn around to know now was the time to beam smugly at Tarly. 'Nope. No, no problem. Just catching up. You know me, Robb. I'm sociable.'

'I know you are.' Robb Stark looked levelly at the gathered. 'Hey, Dickon. Had a good summer?'

Dickon subsided, like most people did when Robb was around. 'Yeah, Robb. Yeah.' He glared at his boots. 'You?'

'Had a great time, thanks.' Robb gave his usual warm, genuine smile, as if there was absolutely no tension in the air. 'Dorne was fantastic. Really interesting; so many people. It's -'

'He doesn't actually care about Dorne, Robb,' Aemon said gently. Dickon looked stricken; a combination of annoyed at Aemon for telling on him, relieved that he wouldn't have to listen about Dorne, and worried that he'd upset Robb.

'Oh.' But as ever, Robb just let it roll off him. 'I guess we'd best be going. Sansa should be here soon.'

'Perhaps you'll have enough time to discover fire, the wheel, and walking upright,' Aemon offered helpfully, but Dickon didn't do more than scowl as Aemon was steered away rather firmly by Robb, who dragged along the offending trunk as if it were empty.

'What happened?' asked Robb, rather weary, once they were out of earshot and trundling along the platform.

'I accidentally crashed into his trunk.'

'Accidentally, or accidentally?'

'Accidentally! Do you think I'd start something this early in the year?' Aemon said indignantly, then waved a dismissive hand. 'Don't answer that.'

Robb didn't, but there was a tilt to his jaw which made it clear he disapproved. His disapproval was not new to him; nobody's was. The only difference was that he actually felt guilty when Robb disapproved, perhaps specifically because he didn't push the issue. Or perhaps that was just the effect Robb had on everyone.

'You know if something happened I'd have to help you,' Robb said with some difficulty. 'And then I'd get it in the neck from Sans.'

'That's only because Tarly can't get it in the neck from her because he doesn't have a neck, muscle-bound freak that he is,' he grumbled. 'Besides, I thought she complaining at you about me was pretty much business as usual by now?'

'That doesn't mean I like it. But I do have to listen. She's my sister.'

Aemon didn't answer, because they were reaching Robb's family by then. It was just Robb's parents and younger sister, and Aemon managed to find one of his most cheerful, friendly grins for them.

Normally he wouldn't have bothered; normally he'd have slunk off somewhere else. But this was for Robb.

'Hey, Mister Stark, Mrs Stark. Little Stark.'

The only comfort Aemon could derive from the whole thing was that the Starks - barring Robb, and by now Arya - looked about as unsure of how to deal with him as he was to deal with them. They'd barely spoken, since the two friends spent no time together during the holidays, and so fleeting interactions at the station had been the extent of it. And a limited extent it was since Aemon had for years been trying to hide his father from society at large.

But while Mrs Stark knew how to put on a friendly game face, Mister Stark looked downright taken aback by his presence, even if he extended a hand to shake. 'Aemon,' he said, and blinked. 'You're here on your own?'

'Oh, yeah.' Aemon shrugged dismissively as he shook his hand. 'I came on my own last year; I figured out how to submit the paperwork for a Portkey application and it's just been easier.'

'I know you were alone last year, I just thought... that was a one-off.' Mister Stark shoved his hands into his pockets, seeming perturbed. He had the same worried, thoughtful sort of face as his son, even if Robb had several inches of height on him and was a good deal broader. Aemon had wondered where burly Robb had got it the hell from.

'Why do I have to be "Little Stark"?' Arya complained, putting an end to the awkwardness. 'I'm in fourth year; this is just ridiculous now.'

Aemon scratched his chin. 'And Stark Prime has flown the coop. Very well, Little Stark; from this day forth you shall no longer be known as "Little Stark". Rather, you shall be known as... "Stark".' He lifted a dramatic hand.

Arya rolled her eyes. 'You're so weird.'

'I will take "weird" over "lynched".' Aemon clapped Robb on the shoulder. 'And you only get such a vaunted title because my trusty sidekick here is Robb, or "young wolf", or "that great lug", or...'

'I definitely don't respond to "that great lug",' said Robb mildly. 'And I am not a sidekick.'

'Trusty sidekick. But I swear you've grown about three inches in six weeks; what are you feeding him, Mrs Stark? The house?' Robb poked him in the shoulder.

'You can stop poking me any time.' Robb grinned.

'Make me, you great lug -'

And Robb did, wrapping one bear-like arm around Aemon's neck and bending him over in a painless headlock which the smaller boy was still utterly incapable of escaping from.

'Sidekick rebellion! Sidekick rebellion!'

'You can say you're sorry,' said Robb, holding Aemon in place with little effort despite the flailing and waving and completely futile efforts to break free.

'You've never made me apologize for anything before, Robb; I don't see why I'll start now,' Aemon pointed out, the world mostly the blacks and greys of Robb's clothing before him. Mrs Stark laughed and he wasn't sure if he was ingratiating himself or becoming some sort of performing monkey; either, however, was better than the confused, trying-too-hard looks of Mister Stark. 'You'll damage the guitar.'

'Only if you keep struggling.'

'Oh, it's a guitar,' Mrs Stark said, now faced with the challenge of holding a conversation with Aemon while he was being wrestled by her son. 'I did wonder.'

'Dad doesn't use it anymore; I figured that'd be a great reason to take it up,' said Aemon automatically, then realized it was possible he'd said too much. The thing about being in Aemon's company was that it was so easy to say anything honestly, without reservation - the problem was when other people were there too.

But he was saved from this awkward revelation by the sound of more footsteps approaching and an arch, familiar voice. 'Are you finally taking him in hand, Robb?'

He'd know Sansa Stark's voice anywhere, and even if he couldn't see her, his face still crushed against Robb's rib cage and all his efforts to free himself proving futile, he could still find words, and the breath to utter them. 'He never could, Stark, but if you're offering to take me in hand I'm sure we could figure something out.'

Mister Stark made a slightly flustered sound. 'Robb, I'm sure he's had enough -'

'He'll never learn if you're a soft touch, Dad,' said Robb amiably, but he let him go and his friend rose, clawing at his throat melodramatically. Never one to turn down a scene, he was even more incited to do so if it'd make things awkward for Sansa, and he tried to finish the effect with a broad, cheesy grin.

Sansa gave Aemon the kind of look one reserved normally for dirt that didn't even have a place on the bottom of shoes. 'Targaryen.'

She sounded so disapproving that Aemon could only summon his brightest and most charming smile, the one with extra teeth. 'Stark. You're looking delightful; a pleasure, as always.'

His and Robb's teammate walked past them,'This year it's coming home. You better believe'

'It's Quidditch again' she sniffed derisively.

'You'd better not let Captain No-Neck hear that tone in your voice, Stark; you'll break his heart into tiny black pieces,' said Aemon, and fancied he spotted a twitch on Mister Stark's lips at his address of Tarly. He wasn't especially surprised that Dickon Tarly wasn't a father's first choice when it came to his daughter's boyfriends. 'He's around, by the way.'

Sansa narrowed her eyes. 'You haven't been antagonizing him, have you?'

'Would I do a thing like -'

'He's with Piper and the others,' interrupted Robb, voice going serious. 'And he was looking to pick a fight, Sansa.'

'Because Aemon is pure as the driven Snow.'

He flinched as Robb and Sansa, different as twins could possibly be faced off against one another. He knew that Robb legitimately didn't like Dickon Tarly, but he also knew that Sansa would just believe Robb's sole motivation was to defend him. Which Sansa wouldn't care about.

Antagonizing people was one thing. Teasing people was one thing. Legitimately putting a wedge in between family members was not on his -

'Aemon Targaryen!'

Another angry female voice, though it took him a few seconds to recognize this one, and he forced a smile he knew even as he turned was going to fall flat. 'Val!'

He was greeted not by Val, compatriot of Rosannah Whent and Her Cracking Legs, but by a box of Chocolate Hearts hurled in his face. He staggered, caught them, then straightened, and now there was an angry Val in front of him.

'Let me guess,' he said, forlorn and irritable at once. 'You're allergic to chocolate?'

'I'm not,' Val said, tossing her astonishingly blonde hair and already turning to sweep off for a dramatic exit, 'but perhaps you should ask Ygritte if she is!'

The gathered congregation of Starks and Robb looked entirely confused as the girl left, and even Sansa seemed more bewildered than satisfied that Aemon had been berated for something. Aemon scratched his head. 'I have no idea what Ygritte has to do with anything.'

Robb sighed, and flipped open the card Aemon had written on the top of the box of chocolates. 'From the looks of things,' he said with a wince, 'everything. Like always.'

Aemon' heart sank as he recognized his own handwriting, recognized the note he'd written so painstakingly in the card. It was always a good move to try to keep affections fresh over the summer, and he'd thought a box of chocolates sent a few days before term started was just the kind of warm up a girl like Val would like.

It was unfortunate, then, that he'd written not her name on the card, but his ex-girlfriend's.

'Well,' he said, and yanked the ribbon off the box. 'I guess that's only four out of five Hufflepuffs after all. Chocolate Heart, anyone?' He extended the box to the assembled.

'They don't have anything in them, do they?' asked Mister Stark, apprehensive.

'Do you think I'd offer you one if they did?' pointed out Aemon, and Sansa gave her father a look of utter betrayal as he grinned and helped himself to a chocolate.

But he wasn't the last to take one, and within a few seconds Sansa was tossing her head again and looking irritably up at the large clock hanging over Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. 'Robb, we should probably be heading up to the Prefect's Carriage,' she said imperiously.

'What? Oh, yeah.' Robb obviously shoved a handful of chocolate in his mouth, and Aemon threw Mrs Stark an amused look.

'This. This is why he's built like an Abraxan.'

'You're the one who's feeding him right now,' she pointed out.

'Get us a compartment, Aemon, won't you? I won't be long, I doubt they'll have anything to tell us we didn't hear last year.'

'We don't know that, Robb!' exclaimed Sansa, but Robb was too busy bidding his parents a heartfelt goodbye, and then they were dragging her away from her indignation to say their farewells, and Aemon lingered at the outskirts, fiddling with his trunk to pretend he had something to do other than stand around awkwardly.

'Guess we'll see you in a few months, Mister Stark, Mrs Stark,' Aemon said at the end, feeling oddly formal

'Here, that trunk's looking a bit heavy, let me help you get it onto the train,' offered Mister Stark abruptly, and after he gave his son and daughters one last hug and kiss, the group split. Arya was keen to set off, while Sansa and Robb started for the forward carriage.

Mister Stark picked up the other end of the trunk and suddenly, Aemon didn't have so much trouble making it to the train. Apparently a legendary auror made for a better battering ram.

'I know sixth year can be difficult,' Mister Stark said when they reached the train door. 'And I'm glad Robb is going into it with a good friend. I can't deny I was a bit worried, when he was Sorted into Slytherin, if he'd be all right. But you two seem to have each others' backs.'

Aemon tried to look polite, rather than frowning suspiciously. 'Yeah, Robb's great. If he needs me, I'm there.'

'Good.' He made the most of the interruption that was flicking his wand to Levitate the trunk up onto the train. 'And we're grateful. So if there's something you need, Aemon, anything at all, you let me know, okay?'

It was with unguarded suspicion that he now looked at Mister Stark. 'What do you think I'm going to need?'

'I don't know.' He, too, seemed cautious, but was by now looking rather more earnest. 'But I understand it's hard to not have family to see you off on the train.'

This took him completely by surprise, and he had never been more grateful for the interruption of the train's horn. They both jerked at the sound, and the parents and students around them erupted into the frantic flurry of last-second reminders, farewells, and arrangements.

'That's okay, Mister Stark,' He said, and now he was grinning again, all charm and easy manners. 'It works out best for everyone this way.'

Mister Stark looked like he was going to say more, but instead hopped off onto the platform. 'Then I'll wish you good fortune, Aemon,' he said, and lifted a hand in farewell as the train began to pull away.

He was gone from sight within seconds, but Aemon still stared at the door as the train trundled and chugged from the station, wondering what to make of it all. The Starks had not previously treated him with much more than confused politeness; Mrs Stark seemed to be warming to him, but she had always taken him in stride the most easily.

This overt gesture from Ned Stark was new and bewildering. But by the time he decided that this was something he wouldn't have to worry about for months, if at all, most of the rest of the crowd of students had swarmed past him, and as he jerked from his reverie with a curse he realized he was going to have hell finding an empty compartment.

It would prove, in fact, impossible. Most were full to the brim with laughing groups of reunited friends, but it was another two carriages before he found anyone he was inclined to so much as give the time of day.

'Hey, Aemon'

Of course, that was Timothy Velaryon, first - no, now second - year in Slytherin. It wasn't that Aemon wasn't pleased to see him, but he wasn't exactly the company he'd been seeking while he waited for Robb.

'Hey, Tim.' Aemon still summoned a bold grin, and took advantage of the encounter to put his trunk down in the corridor as a break. 'How was your summer?'

'I trained a whole bunch. Got my Dad to take me out on the moors; we did some great flying!'

'Is that so? So I'd better see you at the tryouts in a few weeks, huh?' Aemon punched him lightly, jovially on the arm. 'Otherwise we're going to be flying without a Seeker.'

'You'll find someone.' Tim said in a matter-of-fact manner. 'And that someone's going to be me.'

'It might just be. The Captain's a friend of mine, see.' Aemon winked.

Tim scowled. 'I can get in on my own merits -'

'I know, kid, I know. I look forward to seeing it - I've got high hopes for you!' he reassured the younger boy, then he reached into his trunk. 'But if you want to really ingratiate yourself with the rest of the team, be a good fellow and stick these dungbombs in Dickon Tarly' luggage.'

Tim's little face lit up at the prospect and, satisfied with a job well done, Aemon grabbed his trunk and trundled along to continue the search for a compartment he could sit in without wanting to kill himself.

In the end there was only one choice, and he seriously considered sitting in the corridor on his trunk for the whole journey. But that wouldn't do - some prefect would eventually tell him off, and he didn't want to give Sansa Stark that kind of opportunity on a plate - so he finally accepted his situation and rapped cautiously on the door before coming in.

'Anyone else sat in here?'

It was a stupid question, and he knew it. Of course nobody else was sat in there. Nobody would share a compartment with Aenys Jones unless they had absolutely no other option. Most of the rest of the Slytherins would be sat together, and that meant Ygritte. After his run-in with Dickon, he was likely running low on social currency with other Houses.

So it had come to this. Stuck, until saved by Robb, in the company of Hogwarts' most boring student.

It wasn't entirely Jones' own fault. He'd been off to a bad start when his parents had named him "Aenys", which wasn't a name you gave a child unless you wanted them to be made fun of.

He was tall, but gangly, and never anything but fastidiously presented. Aemon liked to present himself well, but that came down to making sure his long hair was most artfully ruffled and that, if he had to wear a white shirt in the school uniform, he made sure it was an expensive white shirt which fit well and made him look good. There was a fine line between looking good and being fussy, and Aenys Jones was far over the 'fuss' line and still accelerating.

Dark eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses locked themselves on him and smoldered with quiet indignation at being torn from the latest copy of Maester's Monthly. 'Are you going to play your infernal music?'

'Are you going to try to talk to me about what you're reading?'

Jones inclined his head and removed his feet from the bench opposite. Heart sinking, Aemon let himself in, hauling his trunk into the luggage rack and sadly putting his guitar up there beside it. Normally he'd have played a little to make the trip go faster; it usually got someone's attention and playing at home was more about making his father sad than about relaxing with music. It was the kind of thing he associated with the trip back to Hogwarts, and he would be sad to miss it.

He missed Robb more.

Bereft of his two main forms of distraction, Aemon sank onto the bench opposite Jones and let his gaze wander to the view beyond the window. He'd seen it a dozen times or more already. There was precious little new to be seen, and while his thoughts could occupy him for a little while, it wasn't likely to last until Robb got back.

'I bet you've chosen all of your NEWTs already,' he said, trying to break the silence.

Aenys Jones lowered his magazine slowly, disapprovingly. 'Charms. Transfiguration. Potions. Herbology. Ancient Runes. Arithmancy.' He rattled them off quickly - though he always spoke quickly - as if he wanted the discussion over and done with.

'No Defence Against the Dark Arts?' Aemon was surprised.

'There is nothing in that course which is not covered in theory and in essentials by Charms and Transfiguration,' said Jones. 'Applying one's self to any other form of magic and perfecting one's mental discipline and precise wandwork should transfer to sufficient strength in magical conflict should such a dangerous occasion arise. Not to mention that the course is entirely unnecessary with sightings of Dark Wizards or Dark Beings at a record low.'

'You got hammered on the practical, huh?'

'Irrelevant.' Jones jerked the magazine up peevishly. 'My marks were still top of the year in every OWL subject, including Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

That was why he tolerated Jones, Aemon remembered. He had consistently driven Sansa Stark into second place across the academic tables for the past five years. The only times she had ever beaten him were in various practical tests, most especially in Defence, and Aemon had laughed so hard he'd thought he'd rupture something when Robb had then gone on to beat them both in such practical exams.

'You're not going to be followed in here by girls, are you?' Jones asked him suspiciously.

'No. At least, I don't think so.' Aemon blinked. 'I kind of pissed them all off.'

'Yes. That's what I mean. I saw Val. Are there going to be further reprisals? If so, I suggest you seek another compartment.'

'I came in here to get away from further reprisals,' he said slowly. 'I think she's done all she's going to do.'

'That doesn't mean there won't be others,' said Aenys Jones disapprovingly, and returned to his incredibly dry reading while Aemon wondered how he could amuse himself for at least an hour in a small compartment in utter silence.

* * *

'I told you there wouldn't be anything new,' said Robb as the sixth-year prefects let themselves out of their compartment. They could hear the new Head Boy and Head Girl in the next one over, finally briefing their seventh-year colleagues on their duties for the train in specific and the year in general, and Robb didn't think it sounded any more exciting another time around.

'We didn't know that, Robb,' Sansa said wearily. 'Besides, what were we going to do? Tell Tyrell "sorry, this is a waste of time and brain cells" and then leg it?'

'No, that would be rude,' he said simply. 'And not after he gave us Chocolate Frogs.'

'Yeah.' Sansa looked down at hers, still in its box, and deftly tugged the card out without releasing the gently ribbeting confectionery. She made a face. 'You know, when I was little, it was cool our family were on these. But over the past few years, whenever I pull out a card with Dad or Uncle on it I just feel judged.' The card went in the first bin they passed as they wandered the train corridors. 'It didn't hurt you to sit in there for ten minutes, anyway.'

'My point was that you didn't need to be in such a fuss to get there in the first place.'

'I was in a fuss to get away from your odious little friend,' Sansa admitted.

Robb tensed. 'Can you not talk about Aemon like that behind his back?'

'Why? Robb, you know I'd say it to his face -'

'But then he's there to defend himself. Otherwise I will defend him, and then we'll just end up in a row.'

Sansa looked at his stubborn expression and sighed. 'Fine. But if he's gone and upset Dickon then that's absolutely not my problem, and I don't want to have you come running to me to play peacemaker. It's not my job to keep Dickon in line, and it's not your job to keep him from getting himself into trouble.'

'It is my job to back him up when Dickon is being belligerent, though,' said Robb staunchly. 'And Aemon has his reasons for not liking him.'

'Would those reasons be that Dickon doesn't think the world revolves around Aemon Targaryen?'

Something flashed in Robb's eyes, but he let out a deep, calming breath. If he could help it, Robb would never say anything in anger. Everything had to be calm, well-measured - which was just frustrating for everyone else. 'I don't like him, Sans, I really don't,' he said at last. 'He's arrogant and thoughtless and he's always looking for an opportunity to show off.'

'That reminds me of someone quite close to you...'

'I mean it.' Robb gave the kicked puppy frown she hated. It tended to work. 'He likes to look good by putting other people down, and he's got a nasty temper.'

'He's funny, and he's nice, and he's uncomplicated, and I can handle him, brother.' Sansa rolled her eyes. 'When you're my father, you can lecture me about the people I go out with - but I'll still ignore you.'

'You lecture me about the friends I keep,' Robb pointed out.

'And you ignore me. But seriously, Robb, did you see Targaryen sucking up to our parents?'

'He offered them chocolate. He was embarrassed at what happened with Val and wanted to cover it up. And yes, he was making more jokes than usual, but did it occur to you that he was nervous and wanted to make a good impression? It's what he does,' said Robb calmly. 'And we've had this conversation over and over.'

'We have,' Sansa agreed, subsiding a little. 'But where has he gone? Ygritte and all the others were in that last compartment...'

'He's avoiding Ygritte, still. At least in confined spaces. You know, where he can't dodge or hide.'

Her lip curled. 'Lucky girl.' But Robb looked both disappointing and irritated, and Sansa sighed, looking up and down the corridor. 'Theon?'

Most people stopped when Sansa Stark called their name, usually with a sinking sense of guilt and a conviction that they'd done something wrong. Her counterpart in Gryffindor sixth-year prefecting, Theon Greyjoy, was no exception, and he froze in the door to their carriage. 'I didn't even dock those Hufflepuffs any points!'

'Have you seen Targaryen? Robb doesn't know where he is, it's almost feeding time, and he's not in his usual nap places.'

'Did you try calling for him?' Theon gave an uneasy smile. It was one thing for Sansa to mock her brother and his friend, but most people were wary of embarking on what looked rather like a family conflict. 'Sorry. He's two carriages back, in with Jones.'

'Aenys Jones?' Robb looked disbelieving.

'Maybe he's finally cracked,' Sansa said optimistically. 'Or maybe Jones is going to kill him. Come on, Robb, you can keep an eye on that carriage and I'm just one back from that with the others.'

They headed down the train. It was early enough on the trip that most people were happy to stay in their compartments, catching up on all they'd missed in the summer, enthusing together. Soon enough they'd start wandering to go find other, broader acquaintances and then prefects might be needed to keep an eye on things. It was the calm before the storm and they intended to make the most of it.

'I don't want to pretend like I don't appreciate you looking out for me, Robb,' Sansa said at last. 'About Dickon, I mean. It's just a shame you only really know him through his rows with Targaryen, and through Quidditch. He's not all that bad.'

'I'll trust your judgement, Sans.' Robb gave a pleased little smile and she felt reassured, like making him feel better was the morally right thing to do. It was an infuriating gift of Robb's that when he smiled, the world smiled with him. 'I hope he's more decent than I've heard. You deserve someone decent.'

'Oh, he's just uncomplicated. I'm hardly going to be able to discuss the finer points of my Transfiguration essay with him, but that's okay, you know?' Sansa waved a dismissive hand. It was impossible to feel at ease while she thought Robb was disapproving of her; now she might stand a chance at getting through the trip to Hogwarts without an aching, nagging sense of self-doubt.

'I don't. But you seem to, and that's the important thing,' said Robb as they reached a compartment and, much to their joint surprise, saw Aemon Targaryen sat in there - looking bored out of his skull - across from Aenys Jones and his incredibly dull magazines.

'Though between you and me he's not half as good a kisser as Theon,' said Sansa, with a sudden burst of that old sense of companionable sharing she'd missed since she and her brotter had been Sorted into different Houses - right as Robb opened the door into the compartment, and then stared at her in horror at his mistake.

If Jones heard her, he didn't let on. But Aemon was up like a shot, eyes lighting, and he bolted at the door. Robb, stricken with embarrassment at his error, pulled the door to, but Aemon slammed against the glass, pressed up like a mad thing.

Sansa felt colour rise to her cheeks, mortified. 'Oh, Robb!'

'I heard that!' Aemon hissed through the gap in the door. 'I totally heard -'

'You heard nothing,' Sansa snapped, pointing accusingly at him.

'I'm sorry,' Robb muttered, hanging his head. 'I'll shut him up.'

'Just - just go,' she said, waving her hands in the air.

Robb opened the compartment door to slip in, but Aemon stayed in the doorway, his grin huge, bright lilac eyes locked on her, silver blond hair wild. 'Don't Stark,' he said, in that calm voice which meant he was going to do something horrid any second. 'Your secret's safe with me.'

'It had better be,' she said through gritted teeth. 'If I hear a peep about this from anyone, Targaryen, and I mean anyone-'

'You can trust me,' he said, expression going sombre, though she didn't believe it for a moment. 'My lips are sealed.'

She knew that, at least, Robb would keep him in line, especially on something that actually mattered, so she just hissed, 'Good!' and turned on her heel, stalking down the corridor in the direction of where people she actually liked would be waiting for her.

'Oh! Stark -'

He probably wasn't actually going to bellow the revelation down the corridor. He probably wasn't that cruel, and Robb would almost certainly stop him. He was almost certainly just trying to make her panic with the thought that he would, right before he said something entirely innocent and then grinned at having successfully wound her up.

She didn't care, because she was ready for it.

'Shut up.' Sansa turned, but it wasn't her wand that was in her hand, but the Chocolate Frog that had been a Head Boy's bribe, which she pulled from the box and threw at him.

It arced through the air, twirling and spinning, to land on Aemon's face - and, with a low ribbet, stuck on.

He clearly hadn't been expecting that and reeled back, arms flailing, to crash into the compartment wall, completely taken aback for the few seconds it took him to realize just what had landed on his face. But the sight and spectacle had caught the attention of other compartments, and a ripple of laughter ran through the carriage as Aemon Targaryen floundered in the face of confectionery - and then, as was his wont, played up to it with more melodramatic flailing.

Wearing a small smile and not looking back, Sansa Stark swept out of the train carriage, her work done.

It was shaping up to be an all right sort of year.


	2. Chapter 2

'Catch.'

Robb didn't even look up from where he was bent over a mountain of paperwork and books, just lifted one giant hand to snatch the Quaffle out of mid-air. 'Aemon, I'm busy.'

Aemon hopped from one foot to another in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room. Emerald light filtered down through the lake, shimmering through the water and through the broad window which granted them a magnificent underwater view, and bathed them all in pale greens. This far down the best light came from the fireplace and the sconces along the walls, and so in the shadows the scion of the Targaryen bloodline looked more like a wretched goblin, starved for attention.

'I'm bored.'

'But we've got that Transfiguration essay due in tomorrow -'

'The perfect cure for boredom.' Aemon bounded over the back of the sofa to perch on the seat, eyes gleaming as they locked onto his best friend. 'Certainly enough to put the Hogsmeade festival and the finest of Ministerial parties to shame!'

'Yes, well.' Robb put the Quaffle down and dipped his quill in the ink pot. 'It still needs doing.'

'When are try-outs?' Aemon jigged up and down a little.

'Next Wednesday.' Robb looked slightly pained. 'I told you this. There was a leaflet.'

Aemon thought back vaguely to a pile of paperwork he'd been handed a couple of days before. He'd assumed it was notes from Potions (he'd ended up taking it after all), and had promptly let it languish at the bottom of his bag, untouched.

There was a reason he was only an average sort of student.

'But it's Thursday,' he keened, and snatched up the Quaffle. 'We've not even been back a week -'

'And yet, you're already running out of distractions -'

'Aenor'll flay me if I play music in here during study hours.'

'She'll flay you for throwing a Quaffle around, too.' Robb reached out to snatch the Quaffle from Aemon's hands, as he had just set about tossing it from one end of the sofa to the other, throwing himself forward to catch it, like a bored cat with a cheap toy. 'Honestly, Aemon, don't you think you should get schoolwork done while you're ahead? Before it gets too much?'

'Really, that's such a ridiculous thing to say; why would I -'

'Because I'd like to do well in my NEWTs and so I'm trying to take it halfway seriously!'

There was something new in Robb's voice, a new kind of snap that Aemon hadn't heard before - at least, not levelled at him - that was entirely irritated and entirely genuine. It shut him up immediately, but Robb fell silent too, frowning at his parchment, clearly already regretting losing his temper.

But he didn't apologize either, and unease settled in Aemon's gut. '...everything okay, mate?'

Robb had to know how much it hurt Aemon to ask such a thing directly, sincerely, and had to know how much of a blow it was for him to give a dismissive shrug. 'I just think there's a time and a place for goofing around.'

And this isn't it.

Aemon was saved from having to do something demeaning to recover his dignity by the door to the common room sliding open and in came Nath and Karsi. Nath gave them an obligatory wave and then, as was perhaps judicious, just carried on his way into the dorm room, but Karsi detached herself from him and went over to join them.

Karsi was one of Ygritte's best friends. Perhaps she'd not got the memo on the new Standard Operating Procedures which Nath and almost the entirety of the rest of Slytherin House sixth years were now following.

It wasn't as if anyone wanted to hear his side of things. And it wasn't as if Aemon wanted to give it. Robb knew, and that was enough.

'Hey, Aemon, Robb.' Karsi flipped her hair over one shoulder, and despite himself Aemon slid sideways on the couch he'd been claiming to leave room for her. 'You didn't want to come hang out in the Ravenclaw common room?'

'We're trying to stay ahead before the NEWT coursework becomes truly horrific,' said Aemon smoothly.

Karsi looked at the coffee table. 'Then where's yours?'

'I'm consulting for Robb,' said Aemon , and Robb racked up another owed favor by doing him the kindness of not laughing in his face.

'Oh, well, it wasn't that good a time, anyway,' said Karsi, sounding like she'd not especially cared about Aemon's answer in the first place. 'Your sister showed up - I mean, seriously, who told her, and so of course Tarly and the Hufflepuffs appeared and they didn't even bring any Butterbeer, and she threw a fit when she found Martell's Firewhiskey and laid into him about his prefectly duty or something equally ridiculous.'

She rolled her eyes and Robb assumed the pained expression that lived on his face almost perpetually when listening to his Slytherin housemates talk ill of his sister. At first he'd tried to ask them to stop. And every time he did, they looked surprised, apologetic, and indicated they'd never do it again.

Right up until they did it again mere days later. Even the patience of Robb Stark was not infinite, and so he nowadays just gritted his teeth and bore it.

'And then she left in a huff, along with Jeyne Pool, who was wearing the most awful skirt I have ever seen - seriously, Aemon, you would have died-'

Aemon was pretty sure he was going to die anyway.

'But then, you know what happened?'

'The Slytherin common room flooded and interrupted this story?' Aemon wondered, and as expected, Karsi didn't miss a beat, since she wasn't actually listening to him.

'Her precious Tarly, who'd been so steadfast next to her while she ripped a strip off poor Martell, who went to such efforts to put together a good time for everyone? Stayed behind and drank all of the whiskey! Him and the rest of the Hufflepuff team!'

Normally, Aemon would not have missed out on an opportunity to condemn Dickon Tarly, but Karsi managed to retell a story of outrageous injustice in a way which made him want to defend the objects of her criticism.

Only now was he remembering how he'd managed to tolerate her regular company when he'd been seeing Ygritte- and it had involved paying a lot of attention to Ygritte, and absolutely none to her.

'That's just scandalous,' said Aemon, glad he didn't have to put too much effort into sounding convincing.

'Isn't it? But with all of the whiskey gone, and you know how Ygritte just can't put up with someone as odious as Tarly-'

Aemon fought to not laugh.

'We decided to just come back.'

He looked at the door suspiciously, and finally Robb lifted his head from his homework to look like he halfway cared about what was going on around him. Robb frowned. 'Then where are they if you and Nath-'

'Oh, they stopped off with Rosannah and Val on the way back to the Hufflepuff common room, but I'm sure they'll be -'

Then Aemon was on his feet, lunging over the back of the sofa, all flailing limbs and mismatched dignity as he straightened himself and his rumpled shirt. 'I'm going for a walk,' he said firmly.

Robb cleared his throat. 'Aemon, you don't have to -'

'I really do.'

'You're going to have to be in the same place at the same time eventually.'

'No, we don't; avoidance is a perfect plan and this issue will go away by itself.'

'When?'

'When I graduate? When I die? Take your pick.'

'Aemon-'

But Aemon was already gone, Karsi left in her usual state of genuine bewilderment at the subtleties - in so far as anything around Aemon Targaryen was subtle - and Robb left with a small pile of Transfiguration notes, drafts, and textbooks he couldn't abandon.

The steps up out of the common room were dark at this time of evening, but Aemon had been here for over five years, could find his way through Slytherin House's domain in his sleep, and so bounced up the stairs two at a time -

Just as the segment of wall swung open and out to show a gaggle of his classmates coming the other way.

All five of them froze in place, though Aemon took a little longer because he was halfway between steps and had yet to master spontaneous levitation. His landing sounded loud and clattering in the gloomy silence.

It was broken first by Pypar, who had probably only gone with Ygritte and the girls because he was likely now chasing Val himself. The shorter boy cleared his throat with all the self-importance he didn't possess, and flapped his hands. 'Let's go - you're blocking the doorway, Targ.'

Aemon bit back a sneer, but moved to the side of the corridor, and they all went past him into the common room.

All except Ygritte.

She stood there at the top of the steps, silhouetted against the gloom by the light of the corridor, all fiery-haired and dark blue-eyed beauty that had always been enough to captivate and distract him. And on her face was the look of superior disapproval which had been pasted there for the past three months.

Resentment boiled in his gut alongside discomfort, and he went to hurry up the steps, hoping to push past her and delay a confrontation another day.

'You didn't come to the party, Ae?' He was almost next to her when she finally spoke, her voice somehow playful and icy at once.

He flinched. 'Don't call me "Ae".'

She gave a low laugh. 'What, is only Robb allowed to call you that?'

'Only people I like are allowed to call me that. What do you want, Ygritte?' It was easier to be cold, easier to be crude. But there was a line, and he wouldn't let himself wander past it.

'It was a good party,' she said, looking him up and down. She had mastered the sort of glance which not only made a man feel like a piece of meat, but a good piece of meat. It was an evaluating, lingering gaze; the kind of gaze that made one feel assessed, categorized, and rated within a flat second, and if she liked what she saw, it could make a man feel good about himself and how he looked.

Aemon always knew he looked good, from his dragonhide Oxford shoes, to his well-fitting shirt which made the average Hogwarts uniform look like a burlap sack, to his narrow emerald-and-silver tie and artfully done hair. As a rule, he didn't require approval. That he cared if Ygritte approved was something else, and was part of what drove him crazy.

But only part.

'You should have come,' she continued. 'How long are you going to keep playing this game?'

'I don't know.' Aemon squared his shoulders. 'How long are you going to play yours?'

She laughed, a soft, tinkling sound he could swear sounded menacing. 'I don't know what you mean.'

'Does it help you sleep better at night, Ygritte?' he challenged, anger flaring at the laugh. 'Does it appease your guilt to paint me as the villain?'

Her amusement died. 'Your standing doesn't seem especially affected -'

She went to leave with a dismissive wave of the hand, and that dismissiveness was enough to spark Aemon into reaching out, grabbing her above the elbow. 'It's not my standing I'm talking about -'

But her expression shifted from smug superiority to shock as he grabbed her, and that shock was enough to jerk him out of his broiling frustration, resentment, and anger -

And then came the guilt, the searing guilt and self-doubt that always gnawed at him when he lost his temper, and Aemon let go. Ygritte pulled back, clearly rattled, and for a few seconds he worked his jaw wordlessly. 'I...'

Words failed him, as they so rarely did - and, as always when they did, they failed him when they mattered most. So he just turned on his heel and stormed out of the doorway from the common room into the corridor, footsteps ringing out loudly on the stone floors.

'Aemon? Aemon!'

He had stormed far enough to be several corridors away by then, and had it been anyone else, Aemon would have kept going. He didn't know how Robb had known, how Robb had managed to follow and find him - but he wasn't surprised.

He turned to face his friend, who was trotting along the corridor to catch him up. 'Don't you have Transfig work to do?' he said, bitter.

He regretted it immediately, of course, as he regretted every curt, unfair word ever thrown at Robb, but every time Robb shrugged it off. His first response was an easy, disarming smile, and as he caught up he threw his arm around Aemon's shoulder. 'It can wait. I was bored.'

And like that, nothing seemed so bad anymore. 'Come on,' Robb continued. 'Let's head out for the pitch, throw some hoops. Nobody's going to be out there at this time.'

Aemon gave a wry smile. 'Won't rule-breaking set back your NEWT aspirations?'

'Only if we get caught.'

They'd done this a hundred times before, dodged the prefect patrols they'd memorized, and horribly abused the authority of Robb's Quidditch captaincy to unlock the door to the Slytherin team equipment lockers down by the changing rooms. Their own brooms were up in their dorm, but finding two spares kept in reserve for emergency or new players who hadn't yet bought their own wasn't difficult, nor was finding a Quaffle, and within fifteen minutes they were up in the air, too high in the dark for anyone to see them, putting each other through their paces.

They'd done that a hundred times before, too; since first year, when they'd come to Hogwarts the both of them determined to be the first first-year players on a Quidditch team. Of course, they hadn't been, but the training - which had often uncannily resembled mucking around - had paid off for them to both replace departing Chasers the next year.

The rest was history, a history long enough that there were no new tricks between them, no move one could pull which the other wouldn't instantly and implicitly read. It made them a terror on the pitch, working in perfect unison, reading each other's intentions and schemes at the briefest glance, but made it hell when they went head-to-head.

'You shouldn't let her get to you like that.'

They'd been up there ten minutes before Robb finally spoke, finally broke the silence on any topic other than Quidditch, and that he'd taken that long was a surprise to Aemon.

He flipped up his broom as Robb hurled the Quaffle at the hoops to kick it away, forcing Robb into a dive to retrieve it, a petty act of vengeance for having even broached the subject at all.

But still, he answered. 'I'm trying to avoid her,' he said as Robb returned. 'I think that's best for all involved.'

'It's not right,' Robb said hotly. 'She's the one who -'

'But she broke the story before I did, and so it's her version of events that everyone knows, that everyone trusts.'

'Version? Her version is a pack of lies! Not just lies of omission, lies! And they reflect terribly on you!'

'And the truth reflects pretty terribly on her, but you know what'll happen if I try to let the world know?' Aemon scowled. 'My word against hers. More rows, not just between us; they'll suck others in. It'll be this black hole of picking sides and who believes what, and you know it won't just stay with the ten of us. It'll spread to Hufflepuff and Gryffindor for sure, and then Ravenclaw will get stuck in just so they're not left out, and then my life becomes the hottest topic of Hogwarts gossip.'

Robb made a face. 'I thought you didn't mind that.'

'That depends on what the story is. This issue? Neither story reflects so well on me. So I might as well accept the one which I have. The one in which the Targaryen is the villain and poor Ygritte is the victim; the one which surprises nobody. Do you think anyone's opinion of me was changed when they learnt I was so horrid and mistreated and neglected her and screwed around with other girls?' Aemon shook his head. 'Of course it wasn't. That's why nobody notices that the girls in question change every time the story's told, depending on who's listening, depending on if the audience would check the facts. The story might be a lie, but it's an easy lie. A lie which upsets nobody's expectations.'

'You make it sound like that's all that matters.'

'Expectations?' Aemon scoffed as he caught the Quaffle. 'Maybe not all that matter, but they matter a lot. They matter enough. People don't like having their expectations screwed with; it makes them realize they don't know as much as they thought they did about their lives. It leaves them unsettled, and when people are unsettled, they turn nasty. No.' He shook his head. 'Everyone expects Aemon Targaryen to be the uncaring, callous heartbreaker, just interested in good times and girls, and who am I to correct them? Especially if there's a hint of "dashingly handsome rogue" in there, too.'

Robb didn't smile. 'Would it be that terrible if people questioned what they thought they knew about you?'

'Sometimes, Robb, I think you're the only person who questions the opinion of the masses - myself included. But if there's something I want less than Hogwarts' approval, it's Hogwarts' pity.' Aemon flipped the Quaffle back. 'Besides, if the truth came out, you know you'd have to do fifty rounds with the She Stark.'

Robb looked pained at that, and Aemon felt his one and only pang of guilt on the topic, because he knew it troubled Robb's honest nature to keep the truth a secret. But it would have troubled him more to break that unspoken pact of secrecy.

It was difficult, Aemon reflected, being friends with a good man. You kept on tearing them between their various different honor codes, where multiple options were the right thing to do and yet the wrong thing to do at the same time. He knew he'd only won this round because what he wanted was almost always the tie-breaker for Robb, all other factors being even.

At the least, it made Aemon think harder about whatever he asked of Robb. He didn't, himself, care much about lying or cheating to get by in life. He did care about making Robb do the same.

Robb took a deep breath. 'Some day, Aemon, people are going to realize that you're a good guy after all.'

'I want to be there on that day.' Aemon flung his broom to the right, and punched the Quaffle away from Robb's latest, heavily distracted strike. 'It'll be really cool to see it rain fire.'

Aemon hadn't thought too hard about it when he'd heard nothing about the pack of dungbombs he'd given Tim Velaryon. But it turned out his diminutive protégé was prepared to play the long-term game; the next morning, almost a week since the package had been handed over, Dickon Tarly came into the Great Hall late for breakfast, clearly freshly showered, but still with a faint, disgusting scent about him - and a sticky bag, which had evidently not been cleaned off properly.

Through the Prefect Underground - someone had told Martell, who'd told Robb- Aemon had picked up the finer details over breakfast, and had not been at all coy about letting his laugh echo across the Great Hall when Tarly had got up to leave for his first class. He'd timed it well; Tarly had heard him, had visibly bristled, but if he stopped to cause an altercation he'd be no doubt late.

Of course, Aemon was regretting it by the time he was trooping with Robb down towards the dungeons for Potions, and a small tornado of red and anger swirled through the crowd to catch up with him. Not that Sana Stark would want to walk next to a Targaryen; no, she went to flank Robb, and hissed across him at him.

'That was such a petty thing for you to do!'

Aemon affected a look of artful disinterest. 'You're going to have to narrow it down for me, Stark.'

'Dickon!'

'Come, now- I know that would be a dark, dark deed indeed, but I am not responsible for the existence of Dickon Tarly. You'll have to take that up with his mother.'

'Guys...' Robb tried, honest brow furrowed with vexation.

'You know perfectly well what I'm talking about'

'You mean his state of outrageous deshabillé at breakfast?' Aemon shrugged. 'I was nowhere near him at the time. Robb can vouch for me.'

Sansa gave Robb a searing look, and he shrugged, not especially apologetic. Aemon knew that Sansa was suspicious of their loyalty, but she'd never accuse Robb of outright lying to cover up his misdeeds. She waved a dismissive hand. 'I had a look at the bag and the remains; there was definitely a Timed Explosion Charm placed on that box of dungbombs.'

'Do we have to do this here?' Robb whimpered.

'A Timed Explosion Charm? Wow, that's complicated.' Aemon couldn't help but be impressed.

She wrinkled her nose. 'We did it three years ago in Charms.'

It's complicated for a barely-Second Year. Ignoring her, Aemon looked up at Robb. 'Did you notice that Velaryon's Quidditch gloves are second-hand, a bit frayed? Remind me to buy him some new ones for his birthday if he makes it onto the team.'

'Hey you, I am not talking about Quidditch,' Sansa hissed, all of her brilliance counting for nothing as her anger made her miss the obvious clue he dropped right in her lap. Just as he'd expected.

'I know, I was talking to Robb...'

'Do I have to be here for this?' Robb wondered.

'You!' Sansa's voice hit new and dangerous decibels. A couple of first years staggered as they passed them - Aemon wondered if their tender age made them more susceptible to sounds outside of his hearing range. 'I don't know what this stupid, childish vendetta that you have going with Dickon is, but don't think that I'll leave you be just because you're Robb's friend.'

'No, I thought you might leave me be because - and I swear to all the Gods of man and wizard that I did not put those dungbombs in his satchel, by the way - Tarly's a big boy, and I'm sure he can fight his own battles without going running to you for help.' Aemon cocked his head. 'Or did you have to listen to him whine all the way through breakfast?'

Sansa hesitated - and so did Aemon at that, because "doubt" was not a word he had ever been inclined to associate with her. 'You're right,' she said, and he wondered if that date of fire from the skies was closer than he'd thought. 'You're not worth my time.'

Robb let out a sigh of relief, but Sansa jerked a finger at Aemon. 'You're scum, Targaryen just like your family, and even if you're going to keep on harassing Dickon, you are not worth my time, and you are not worth his time. He told me all about what happened between you and Ygritte, he told me all about what you did to her, and if you're capable of that, then of course I shouldn't expect better of you when it comes to childish pranks.'

Then she flew past them, the tornado now a smouldering storm, and Aemon actually stopped dead in his tracks as she tore off down towards the dungeons. His heart thudded in his chest, blood pumping no longer from the sheer glee of winding up Sansa Stark, but with raw, unadulterated anger.

Robb paused, squeezing his shoulder. 'Easy, Ae,' he said quietly. 'She doesn't know what she's talking about.'

Aemon ground his teeth together. 'How dare he,' he hissed. 'How bloody dare she -'

'She doesn't know any better,' Robb pressed again. 'And, I hate to say it, but this is what comes of not letting people know the truth - they'll believe a pack of lies.'

It was the wrong thing to say. Aemon shrugged off Robb's hand roughly, and yanked up his satchel over his shoulder. 'C'mon,' he muttered roughly. 'We'll be late to class.'

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> As it's the first chapter for a long story, I would love to hear your thoughts


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